I. NIGHT in Arabia. An hour ago, Pale Dian had descended from the sky, Flinging her cestus out upon the sea, And at their watches, now, the solemn stars Stood vigilant and lone; and, dead asleep, With not a shadow moving on its breast, The breathing earth lay in its silver dew, And, trembling on their myriad viewless wings, Th' imprison'd odors left the flowers to dream, And stole away upon the yielding air. Ben Khorat's tower stands shadowy and tall In Mecca's loneliest street; and ever there, When night is at the deepest, burns his lamp As constant as the Cynosure, and forth From his loop'd window stretch the brazen tubes, Pointing forever at the central star Of that dim nebula just lifting now Over Mount Arafat. The sky to-night Is of a clearer blackness than is wont, And far within its depths the colored stars Sparkle like gems -- capricious Antares Flushing and paling in the Southern arch; And azure Lyra, like a woman's eye, Burning with soft blue lustre; and away Over the desert the bright Polar star, White as a flashing icicle; and here, Hung like a lamp above th' Arabian sea, Mars with his dusky glow; and fairer yet, Mild Sirius, tinct with dewy violet, Set like a flower upon the breast of Eve; And in the zenith the sweet Pleiades, (Alas -- that even a star may pass from heaven And not be miss'd!) -- the linked Pleiades Undimm'd are there, though from the sister band The fairest has gone down; and, South away, Hirundo with its little company; And white-brow'd Vesta, lamping on her path Lonely and planet-calm, and, all through heaven, Articulate almost, they troop to-night, Like unrobed angels in a prophet's trance. Ben Khorat knelt before his telescope, Gazing with earnest stillness on the stars. The gray hairs, struggling from his turban-folds, Play'd with the entering wind upon his cheeks, And on his breast his venerable beard With supernatural whiteness loosely fell. The black flesh swell'd about his sandal-thongs, Tight with his painful posture, and his lean And wither'd fingers to his knees were clench'd, And the thin lashes of his straining eye Lay with unwinking closeness to the lens, Stiffen'd with tense up-turning. Hour by hour, Till the stars melted in the flush of morn, The old astrologer knelt moveless there, Ravish'd past pain with the bewildering spheres, And, hour by hour, with the same patient thought, Pored his pale scholar on the characters Of Chaldee writ, or, as his gaze grew dim With weariness, the dark-eyed Arab laid His head upon the window and look'd forth Upon the heavens awhile, until the dews And the soft beauty of the silent night Cool'd his flush'd eyelids, and then patiently He turn'd unto his constant task again. The sparry glinting of the Morning Star Shot through the leaves of a majestic palm Fringing Mount Arafat, and, as it caught The eye of the rapt scholar, he arose And clasp'd the volume with an eager haste, And as the glorious planet mounted on, Melting her way into the upper sky, He breathlessly gazed on her: -- "Star of the silver ray! Bright as a god, but punctual as a slave -- What spirit the eternal canon gave That bends thee to thy way? What is the soul that, on thine arrowy light, Is walking earth and heaven in pride to-night? "We know when thou wilt soar Over the mount -- thy change, and place, and time -- 'Tis written in the Chaldee's mystic rhyme As 'twere a priceless lore! I knew as much in my Bedouin garb -- Coursing the desert on my flying barb! "How oft amid the tents Upon Sahara's sands I've walk'd alone, Waiting all night for thee, resplendent one! With what magnificence, In the last watches, to my thirsting eye, Thy passionate beauty flush'd into the sky! "Oh God! how flew my soul Out to thy glory -- upward on thy ray -- Panting as thou ascendedst on thy way, As if thine own control -- This searchless spirit that I cannot find -- Had set its radiant law upon my mind! "More than all stars in heaven I felt thee in my heart! my love became A frenzy, and consumed me with its flame. Ay, in the desert even -- My dark-eyed Abra coursing at my side -- The star, not Abra, was my spirit's bride! "My Abra is no more! My 'desert-bird' is in a stranger's stall -- My tribe, my tent -- I sacrificed them all For this heart-wasting lore! -- Yet, than all these, the thought is sweeter far -- @3Thou wert ascendant at my birth, bright star!@1 "The Chaldee calls me @3thine@1 -- And in this breast, that I must rend to be A spirit upon wings of light like thee, I feel that @3thou art mine!@1 Oh God! that these dull fetters would give way And let me forth to track thy silver ray!" * * * * Ben Khorat rose And silently look'd forth upon the East. The dawn was stealing up into the sky On its gray feet, the stars grew dim apace, And faded, till the Morning Star alone, Soft as a molten diamond's liquid fire, Burn'd in the heavens. The morn grew freshlier -- The upper clouds were faintly touch'd with gold; The fan-palms rustled in the early air; Daylight spread cool and broadly to the hills; And still the star was visible, and still The young Bedouin with a straining eye Drank its departing light into his soul. It faded -- melted -- and the fiery rim Of the clear sun came up, and painfully The passionate scholar press'd upon his eyes His dusky fingers, and, with limbs as weak As a sick child's, turn'd fainting to his couch, And slept. * * * * * * II. * * It was the morning watch once more, The clouds were drifting rapidly above, And dim and fast the glimmering stars flew through; And as the fitful gust sough'd mournfully, The shutters shook, and on the sloping roof Plash'd, heavily, large, single drops of rain -- And all was still again. Ben Khorat sat By the dim lamp, and, while his scholar slept, Pored on the Chaldee wisdom. At his feet, Stretch'd on a pallet, lay the Arab boy, Muttering fast in his unquiet sleep, And working his dark fingers in his palms Convulsively. His sallow lips were pale, And, as they moved, his teeth show'd ghastly through, White as a charnel bone, and -- closely drawn Upon his sunken eyes, as if to press Some frightful image from the bloodshot balls -- His lids a moment quiver'd, and again Relax'd, half open, in a calmer sleep. Ben Khorat gazed upon the dropping sands Of the departing hour. The last white grain Fell through, and with the tremulous hand of age The old astrologer reversed the glass; And, as the voiceless monitor went on, Wasting and wasting with the precious hour, He look'd upon it with a moving lip, And, starting, turn'd his gaze upon the heavens, Cursing the clouds impatiently. "'Tis time!" Mutter'd the dying scholar, and he dash'd The tangled hair from his black eyes away, And, seizing on Ben Khorat's mantle-folds, He struggled to his feet, and falling prone Upon the window-ledge, gazed steadfastly Into the East: -- "There is a cloud between -- She sits this instant on the mountain's brow, And that dusk veil hides all her glory now -- Yet floats she as serene Into the heavens! ---- Oh God! that even so I could o'ermount @3my@1 spirit-cloud, and go! "The cloud begins to drift! Aha! fling open! 'tis the star -- the sky! Touch me, immortal mother! and I fly! Wider! thou cloudy rift! Let through! -- such glory should have radiant room! Let through! -- a star-child on its light goes home! "Speak to me, brethren bright! Ye who are floating in these living beams! Ye who have come to me in starry dreams! Ye who have wing'd the light Of our bright mother with its thoughts of flame -- -- (I @3knew@1 it pass'd through spirits as it came) -- "Tell me! what power have ye? What are the heights ye reach upon your wings? What know ye of the myriad wondrous things I perish but to see? Are ye thought-rapid? -- Can ye fly as far -- As instant as a thought, from star to star? "Where has the Pleiad gone? Where have all missing stars found light and home? Who bids the Stella Mira go and come? Why sits the Pole-star lone? And why, like banded sisters, through the air Go in bright troops the constellations fair? "Ben Khorat! dost thou mark? The star! the star? By heaven! the cloud drifts o'er! Gone -- and I live! nay -- will my heart beat more? Look! master! 'tis all dark! Not a clear speck in heaven? -- my eyeballs smother! Break through the clouds once more! oh starry mother! "I will lie down! Yet stay, The rain beats out the odor from the gums, And strangely soft to-night the spice-wind comes! I am a child alway When it is on my forehead! Abra sweet! Would I were in the desert at thy feet! "My barb! my glorious steed! Methinks my soul would mount upon its track More fleetly, could I die upon thy back! How would thy thrilling speed Quicken my pulse! -- Oh Allah! I get wild! Would that I were once more a desert-child! "Nay -- nay -- I had forgot! My mother! my star mother! -- Ha! my breath Stifles! ----- more air! ----- Ben Khorat! this is -- death! Touch me! ----- I feel you not! Dying! -- Farewell! good master! -- room! more room! Abra! I loved thee! star! bright star! I ----- come!" How idly of the human heart we speak, Giving it gods of clay! How worse than vain Is the school homily, that Eden's fruit Cannot be pluck'd too freely from "the tree Of good and evil." Wisdom sits alone, Topmost in heaven; -- she is its light -- its God! And in the heart of man she sits as high -- Though grovelling eyes forget her oftentimes, Seeing but this world's idols. The pure mind Sees her forever: and in youth we come Fill'd with her sainted ravishment, and kneel, Worshipping God through her sweet altar-fires, And then is knowledge "good." We come too oft -- The heart grows proud with fulness, and we soon Look with licentious freedom on the maid Throned in celestial beauty. There she sits, Robed in her soft and seraph loveliness, Instructing and forgiving, and we gaze Until desire grows wild, and, with our hands Upon her very garments, are struck down, Blasted with a consuming fire from heaven! Yet, oh! how full of music from her lips Breathe the calm tones of wisdom! Human praise Is sweet -- till envy mars it, and the touch Of new-won gold stirs up the pulses well; And woman's love, if in a beggar's lamp 'Twould burn, might light us clearly through the world; But Knowledge hath a far more 'wildering tongue, And she will stoop and lead you to the stars, And witch you with her mysteries -- till gold Is a forgotten dross, and power and fame Toys of an hour, and woman's careless love, Light as the breath that breaks it. He who binds His soul to knowledge steals the key of heaven -- But 'tis a bitter mockery that the fruit May hang within his reach, and when, with thirst Wrought to a maddening frenzy, he would taste -- It burns his lips to ashes! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THIRTEEN WAYS OF LOOKING AT A BLACKBIRD by WALLACE STEVENS LET US HAVE PEACE by NANCY BYRD TURNER THE OLD FERRYMAN by ANTIPHILUS OF BYZANTIUM CHARACTERS: SUSANNAH BARBAULD MARISSAL by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD MISADVENTURES AT MARGATE; A LEGEND OF JARVIS'S JETTY by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM |